


The Aliens Prompt Collection

by TheSailingRabbit



Category: Alien Series, Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Drama, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Original Character(s), Prompt Fic, Romance, Some Plot, What-If, couples
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25113655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSailingRabbit/pseuds/TheSailingRabbit
Summary: Based on prompts and prompt lists found online, I explore everything from post-Marine life to bad cooking to slice-of-life on Sevastopol with ships and friendships from my fanfics of Aliens and Alien: Isolation.
Relationships: Cynthia Dietrich/Tim Crowe, Mark Drake/Jenette Vasquez, Spunkmeyer/Ferro, Waits/Lingard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Waking Up Together

**Author's Note:**

> The first 30 prompts are from a list called "30 Days of Domestic Fluff." Found while I was browsing for lists. Not sure who the original creator is. Will be posting one prompt response a day. Enjoy.

_Drake/Vasquez_

Laying awake half-conscious past seven was a luxury Drake had never imagined while in service. Despite having been discharged for eight months, he still had days where he felt like he was going to hear Hicks knocking on his door, ordering him to get up, get dressed, and head to the mess hall for breakfast. After all, that was also when Vasquez had to jump out of bed and go to her room before they were caught.

Not anymore. Drake gave a quiet, relieved sigh upon seeing Vasquez was still there, fast asleep, curled up against him. He rested his head over hers, debating whether or not to say something that would wake her. _Oh, what the hell, we’ve been sleeping together for years._ He grinned, kissing Vasquez’s forehead. “Good morning, honey,” he said, softly. He gently touched his chin to her forehead, aware he needed to shave his blond stubble.

Normally, Vasquez would’ve pretended to still be asleep. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Drake’s neck and put one leg over his hip. “Good morning, dumbass,” she whispered.

Adjusting to get comfortable, Drake touched his nose to Vasquez’s. “How’d you sleep?”

“Can I have one morning where you don’t ask that?”

“Why? I thought it was common courtesy.”

“I slept fine. No dreams. No waking up at odd hours. How about you? You’re the one who has nightmares.”

“Amazingly, I slept good, too.” Drake smiled, blue eyes still somewhat bleary with sleep. It felt good to wake up next to the woman he loved and trusted and served alongside with every single morning.

“Don’t you have to get up for work?”

“I don’t have to be there till nine. I have time.” Drake gave her another kiss. “I can’t forget my good-morning ‘I love you,’ though.”

“Since you said it, you didn’t forget it.” Vasquez gave him a pat on the cheek, not feeling quite up to slapping him yet. “I love you, too.” She then buried her face in his chest.

“I thought you said I had to get up for work,” Drake snorted.

“You have a little over an hour. Plenty of time to just lay here and cuddle.”

Drake shrugged. “Alright. Can’t argue with that. Just don’t let me fall asleep.”

“I won’t. And if you do fall asleep, I will slap you.” Vasquez kissed his jawline. “By the way, it’s your turn to make breakfast.”

“OK. Eggs?”

“I did eggs yesterday.”

“No, you did egg sandwiches. I’m talking fried eggs and bacon.”

“Still eggs, Drake. Do something else.”

* * *

_Waits/Lingard_

The sounds of the rest of Sevastopol’s residents leaving their apartments and heading to the elevators to start their days was enough to jolt Lingard from her hazy thoughts. It took her a moment to realize the alarm clock was not on the nightstand, but it didn’t take very long to see why.

“Really?” She glared at Waits, who was still out like a light. He must’ve pushed the clock off the nightstand—again—when it went off some time ago. “I have to get up for work, as do you, and you’re still sleeping?”

Waits’s only response was a grunt.

“Get up.” Lingard shook him. “Wake up!” She shook him again, still getting nothing. “Jesus Christ, Waits, wake up!”

“In a minute,” Waits moaned.

“No. You need to be up, right now. Come on. Up. Right now. Let’s go.” Lingard shook him, a bit harder this time. “Don’t make me push you out of bed.”

“Couldn’t do that if you tried.”

Lingard picked up a pillow, swatting him.

“ _Ow_ —fuck!” Waits pulled himself into a sitting position, shaking his head. “Not called for, sweetheart.”

“Did it get you up?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then it was completely called for.”

“Oh, if that’s the game we’re gonna play—” Waits put his arms around Lingard, pulling her as close as he could.

“Waits! I have to get ready for work!”

“So do I.” He nuzzled her face before kissing her. “Good morning.”

Lingard struggled for a second, pushing on Waits before giving up with a frustrated sound. She gave a heavy sigh, then groaned, “I don’t have time for this, Waits.”

“Yes, you do. You need to take some time to slow down, anyway. See? You just woke up, you’ve had no breakfast, no coffee, and you’re spending whatever energy you have getting all worked up and trying to push me outta bed.” Waits kissed her again. “Relax, honey, OK? Enjoy your mornings. Lay back down and snuggle.”

“Fine, but one more thing—” Lingard reached over Waits, grabbing his Marshal cap from the nightstand. She put it on his head, then yanked the brim. It was her way of telling him she loved him, no matter how irritating he got sometimes. She lay back down with him, her head on his shoulder and one arm draped over his belly. “Can we compromise? Just so neither of us is late for work?”

“Sure.”

“Only five minutes.”

“Ten minutes, and I’ll set the alarm clock for you.”

“Deal.” She kissed his cheek. Once the clock was placed back on the nightstand, she let him pull the blankets back over them, enveloping them in a comforting warmth.

* * *

_Spunkmeyer/Ferro_

“Hicks is gonna kill you two if he finds out you two’re sleeping with each other, man!” Hudson hissed, knocking on Spunkmeyer’s door.

“Would you mind your own business for once, Hudson?!” Ferro hissed. “You act like we’ve never done this before.”

“Yeah. If he’s gonna remind us, then he may as well remind Drake and Vasquez, too,” Spunkmeyer added. “Let Vasquez cuss him out.”

“One of these days, she’s going to do more than that.” Ferro grinned up at Spunkmeyer, then put her arms around his neck. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Spunkmeyer leaned down to kiss her full on the lips. “You still smell nice.”

“I’m just hoping you didn’t leave a fucking hickey on my neck from last night.”

“I didn’t. Sorry if I went too hard.”

“Are you talking about the kissing or your thrusting?”

Spunkmeyer gave her a lopsided smirk. “Since you put it that way, both.”

“No need to apologize. You’re sure there’s no mark on my neck?”

“Positive, dear.” He was about to kiss her again when Hudson knocked on the door again.

“Come on, man, I can hear Hicks getting ready in his room!”

“Oh, for the love of God, Hudson!” Spunkmeyer growled. “I will push you outta the dropship if you don’t go away!”

“It’s your funeral, man—”

“ _Hudson!_ ” someone shouted from out in the hall. Both Ferro and Spunkmeyer looked at each other in slight surprise when they recognized Wierzbowski’s voice.

“’Ski, I was just—”

“You are waking everybody up! What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!”

Spunkmeyer snorted, and locked eyes with Ferro again. “We’ll let Wierzbowski handle him.”

“I should get back to my room, though,” Ferro replied. “Pretty sure Hudson being a jackass and Wierzbowski yelling has gotten Apone and Hicks up.”

“Good point,” Spunkmeyer said with a sigh. “Leave it to Hudson to ruin the fun.”

“Tell you what, next time he’s sleeping with his girlfriend, we’ll bother him in the most obnoxious way possible.”

“Dammit, Ferro, you’re evil. Surprised no one’s painted devil horns on your helmet.”

She gave him a half-innocent smile. “Me? Evil? Never.”

They both glanced at the door when they heard Vasquez join the argument outside, shouting at Hudson in Spanish.

“Now he’s dead,” Spunkmeyer said. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she gets Drake involved.”

“Drake is not a morning person. Have you seen him at breakfast?”

“All the more reason for him to beat the crap outta Hudson for waking up everyone on this side of the base.”

“Good point. Now, are we going to keep listening to them, or are you going to kiss me again?”


	2. Morning Routine

_Drake/Vasquez_

It had taken several weeks before both Drake and Vasquez got used to slowing down in the mornings. There was no more rushing. There was a sense of urgency, but it was far less intense than in the Marines.

“Few more months till the wedding,” Drake said, standing in front of the bathroom vanity. “Nervous? Excited? Both?”

“I’ve known you for too long to be nervous,” Vasquez replied.

“Well, I’m a little nervous, but it has nothing to do with you.” Drake started lathering shaving cream on his face.

“You don’t do well in rooms full of people. Which makes no sense here because we know everyone who’s coming. Besides, you did great at Hudson’s wedding.”

“I did, so I’m hoping for a repeat of that rather than a repeat of what happened at Wierzbowski’s wedding.”

“You’ll be fine, Drake. I’m more humiliated at the fact that I have to wear a dress.”

“You’re going to look lovely. Ferro’s helping you, remember? She has less experience than you do with dresses.”

“Good point. And you have Hudson helping with your tux. That should be interesting.”

“He was all dolled up for his wedding. He has an idea of what we’re doing.” Drake glanced at Vasquez as she dried water from her face. “You’re sure you don’t want his wife helping?”

“I can’t stand Miranda. I know she has her good days, but most of the time, she is just as obnoxious as Hudson and I don’t want to deal with that. Not without you in the room.”

Drake smirked. “So, you’re saying I can see the dress before the wedding?”

“I didn’t even say ‘yes’ to having Miranda’s help. The answer is no.”

“OK, OK. You are the bride after all. Now, which aftershave should I use today? Sexy, or just . . . clean?”

“Drake, there’s nothing you could put on that isn’t sexy.”

“Aww, thanks.”

Vasquez smirked, then looked up at a clock. “You have an hour before you have to go to work.”

“Thank you, honey.” Drake rinsed his razor. “I’ll get started on breakfast when I’m done.”

“Don’t bother. We have cereal.”

“But I want to cook for you—”

“Another morning, Drake.”

Drake pretended to be disappointed, then gave Vasquez a kiss on the cheek when he finished putting on his aftershave gel. “OK. Another morning. I will make you breakfast. How ‘bout breakfast in bed?”

“Every time you say you’ll do breakfast in bed, you never do?”

“OK, the one time I wasn’t able to do it was because Hudson showed up at the front door—”

“Excuses. If you say you’re gonna do it, do it.”

“And I will.” Drake rolled his eyes. “Have you no faith in me?”

“Oh, I have faith in you. In that you’ll do what you say three days after you say you’ll do it.”

“I love you, too, honey.” Drake headed back into their bedroom, taking his clothes from the floor and laying them on the bed. The clock read 8:05 AM. _I am really late for morning chow,_ Drake thought. _About an hour late._ He shook his head, trying to pull himself out of his memories. _We’re out now. There’s no more rigid structure in the mornings. There’s just me and her._

He was still tightening his belt when he headed downstairs, finding Vasquez pouring coffee and sitting at the counter with a bowl of cereal. Half an orange was on a napkin by the bowl.

“I saved the other half for you,” she said. “Forgot we bought fruit last time we went to the store.”

Drake smirked a little. “How could you forget we bought fruit?”

Vasquez shrugged. “Don’t know. Just started thinking Dietrich was going to kill us if we didn’t have more vitamin C.”

“Dietrich would kill us for any little reason she feels.”

“How the fuck does Crowe put up with her?”

“I think it’s the same reason you put up with me. He just has that special something about him that calms her down and makes her more . . . bearable.”

“You’re not saying I’m unbearable, are you?”

“No. You’re an angel compared to Dietrich.”

Vasquez couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Damn right I am.”

* * *

_Waits/Lingard_

Waits was still half-asleep while sitting up in bed when Lingard threw his clothes at him. “Ten minutes are up, now get dressed,” Lingard said, grabbing a set of clean clothes from her dresser and disappearing into the bathroom.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Waits replied, yawning. “Hurry up, I gotta use the bathroom.”

“Go use your own apartment bathroom! You’re right down the hall anyway!”

“I left my wallet in your bathroom last night, and it has my keycard in it.”

Lingard gave an annoyed sigh, then looked down at the sink. Sure enough, Waits’s wallet was on the edge, dangerously close to falling. “Are you at least getting dressed out there?”

“I am now.” With some effort, Waits left the bed. He put his pants on first, muttering to himself how he wouldn’t feel more awake until he had a cup of coffee. Or two.

A few minutes later, Lingard left the bathroom, seeing Waits tucking in his shirt and his cap sitting crookedly on his head. “Sweetie?”

“What?” Waits replied, sliding his belt through the loops on his pants.

“Your hair is adorable.”

Waits walked over to a mirror. “Oh.” He sighed upon seeing his unkempt silver hair sticking up in every direction, and lifted his cap to haphazardly attempt to fix it. Seeing that Lingard was out of the bathroom, he headed in, closing the door behind him. He emerged not too long after, adjusting his belt. “Morning piss is outta the way,” he said. “Time for some coffee and breakfast, then . . . we head our separate ways to work, and then we decide what we’re doing for the night.” He sighed again, looking forward to the day where they didn’t have to decide, where they could live together without worrying about rumors and blackmail from one Seegson Executive Ransome. He knew that would happen when Sevastopol closed; they just had to make it until then.

“Your apartment tonight?” Lingard asked.

“Mine?” Waits shrugged. “Sure. It’s a mess, though. Smells like cigarettes. And beer.”

“So, it smells like you.”

“Yeah. You can put it that way. Just like how the sterile smell of the hospital reminds me of you. And the fruity smell of your shampoo.”

“That’s my body wash. My shampoo is coconut-scented.”

“Right.” Waits adjusted his jacket collar. “You ready?”

“I . . . guess.”

“What’s wrong?”

Lingard was silent for a moment. “Just . . . wishing I could spend the rest of the morning with you.”

“I wish I could spend the rest of the morning with you, too.” Waits looked down at his shoes. “I mean, we’re gonna have breakfast and coffee together, so . . .”

“Yeah.” Lingard met Waits’s gaze. “You have everything?”

“Everything important. You?”

“Yes.” Lingard opened the apartment door, letting Waits out first. They walked alongside each other to the elevator. Lingard took Waits’s hand once the doors closed in front of them after she pressed the button to go down to the Galleria.

Waits yawned again, then let go of Lingard’s hand to pop his shoulders. Once he was done stretching and loosening his joints, he looked at Lingard, who was staring straight ahead, hands on her purse. “Hand?” Waits held out his left.

Smirking, Lingard took it, squeezing his hand as tight as she could.

“Thanks.” Waits returned the gesture, squeezing her hand.

The elevator opened, and the two stepped out to head to the mall. It was there they let go of each other’s hands, even though it hurt.


	3. Doing Laundry

_Drake/Vasquez_

“Alright, how many times do I have to tell you—” Vasquez swore in Spanish before throwing a sock in Drake’s direction, “Put your fucking socks and underwear in the other basket!”

“It must’ve gotten stuck in my pants and I forgot to get it out,” Drake replied, dropping the sock in a basket off to the side.

“We dealt with the same shit in the Marines,” Vasquez growled, “and it was always Hudson who just dumped his clothes into one basket, so whenever someone had to take everything out of the dryer, there’s his fucking underwear.”

Drake couldn’t help but laugh. “At least his underwear was clean.”

“It’s still _Hudson’s underwear_.” Vasquez gave a heavy sigh, slamming shut the lid of the washing machine. “I’m just happy we never have to do everyone else’s laundry again.”

“Yep. Now, the only other person’s you do is mine.”

“Yours is OK. It smells like you.”

Drake brought the basket with one sock in it over to the washing machine. “Want me to get the rest of the undergarments, or wait until the colors are done?”

“Wait. That way the laundry room doesn’t smell like dirty socks next time one of us comes in here.”

“So, go put my one sock back in the hamper?”

“May as well.”

“OK, honey.” Drake kissed Vasquez’s forehead before taking the basket out of the laundry room. Their loads were so small compared to when either of them were assigned laundry duty on a base. What normally took a few hours now could take less than a half-hour. _I’ll take doing the laundry of two people over the laundry of eleven. Twelve when we got Gorman._

There was a part of Drake that missed it. He remembered grinning whenever he found an article of Vasquez’s, grimacing when he found anything of Hudson’s, wondering what exactly the keep-out sign on Dietrich’s T-shirt meant. He knew now what it meant.

He and Dietrich never got along the greatest, but he was still curious how she and the others were faring without him and Vasquez and Hudson and Wierzbowski.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Vasquez coming up the stairs, and turned to see her going into the bedroom. “Whatcha doing?” asked Drake.

“Trying to decide if I should wash the bedsheets today,” Vasquez replied.

“Do it this weekend.” Drake shrugged. “We’re doing two loads today and that’s enough. Not like we’re having company over or anything.”

“Good point.” Vasquez sat on the edge of the bed. “You know what I really miss?”

“What?”

“Taking care of my smartgun.” She looked at Drake. “I know you miss yours, too.”

Drake nodded. “Yeah. I hope she’s been fixed up and handed off to someone who’s gonna take good care of her.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the garage. “Now I got a truck I can dote as much time to, if not more.”

“That thing is brand-new, Drake. Not much you can do until it starts falling apart.”

“Well, I’m gonna make sure it doesn’t start falling apart. Besides, it was a Christmas gift from Hicks and I think he’d appreciate it if we took extra-good care of it.” Drake sat next to Vasquez, letting out a sigh. The house was silent, and the two were searching for more things to talk about. At the same time, it was nice to just sit together, enjoy each other’s company. Grinning, Drake held out his hand, and Vasquez took it. “We can sit here until the washer’s done,” he whispered.

“Sit here, or fuck in the laundry room like we used to?” Vasquez asked.

“If I was in the mood, sure.”

* * *

_Waits/Lingard_

Setting a flimsy plastic basket on top of a dryer, Lingard opened the washing machine in front of her, and sighed upon seeing a puddle of water at the bottom of the drum. _This one is busted, too?_ She looked around, and spotted a Working Joe android standing near the entrance of the laundromat. “There are two machines leaking water,” she said. “Could you send for someone to fix them?”

“I shall report this to Apollo,” the android said, lifelessly.

“No, I don’t need it reported to Apollo.” Lingard sighed again. “I need a repairman.”

“Apollo will send for repairs.”

“Yeah? When?”

“Please, be patient.”

“I don’t have time. I need to make sure I have clean uniforms for the rest of the week.”

From the corner of her eye, Lingard spotted Waits approaching the laundromat with a basket under his arm and a cigarette in his mouth. “How about you? Do you know how to fix washing machines?”

“Nope. Asking the wrong guy, sweetheart,” Waits replied.

“Smoking is prohibited in this area,” the Working Joe said.

“Kiss my ass.” Waits tapped some of the ash on top of the android’s head. “Alright, honey, what’s wrong with the washer?”

“I’ve found two that are leaking water inside.” Lingard gestured to the machine she had set her basket next to.

“Did you try kicking it?”

“What’s that supposed to do?”

“I dunno. But it sometimes works with anything giving you shit.” Waits gave the machine a hard kick, then looked inside. “Well, fuck. That didn’t work.”

“I wasn’t expecting it to work, sweetie.”

“I’ll go right to maintenance and have them get their butts up here to fix it,” Waits said. “No use going through the androids.” He opened another washer. “Here, this one’s dry.”

“Thanks—Waits, what are you doing?”

Waits dumped the contents of Lingard’s basket into the machine. “Putting your clothes in for you.”

“Sweetie, you’re supposed to put it in like a circle, that way it doesn’t throw the machine off-balance.”

“I always do my laundry like this. Never had any issues.”

“There’s a specific way I have to wash my uniforms, and I’m sure there’s a specific way you have to wash yours, too.”

“Sweetheart, I have been just throwing my shit into the washer for the last forty years with regular old detergent and fabric softener, and everything comes out fine.”

“Well, that might work for you, but it doesn’t work for me. And you should care about how your clothes look.”

“Did I not just say ‘everything comes out fine?’”

“Do you even notice the wrinkles? There’s no way your clothes come out with no wrinkles.”

“Even if they did, can you guess how many shits I give?”

“Waits—”

“Wrong! It’s none.” Waits set Lingard’s basket down, moving on to his own clothes. “Fix it the way you like it, honey. Just don’t be a nag when it comes to mine, or else we’ll be doing our clothes separately when we get an apartment together off Sevastopol.”

Lingard silently cursed to herself as she reached into the washing machine to fix her clothes. After adding detergent, she closed the machine, starting it, then sat on a bench. A minute later, Waits joined her.

“Hi,” said Waits.

Lingard didn’t respond. Then she sighed. “Trying to be presentable and look nice for everyone. Not trying to be a nag.”

“I know.” Waits sighed as well. “I’m sorry for calling you a nag.” He shrugged. “I dealt with that in previous ‘relationships’ and don’t feel like dealing with it again.”

“Ah, so that’s why you were quick to be defensive.”

He nodded.

“It’s OK. I’ll try . . . not to be that way.”

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Waits kept glancing at his watch, timing the washer. “I gotta get back on duty in an hour,” he said.

Lingard nodded, then rested her head on Waits’s shoulder. “That’s plenty of time.”

“For what?”

“To sit here and do nothing.”

“Really? You wanna do nothing?”

Lingard looked up at him. “Well, what would you like to do?”

Waits blushed before turning to give Lingard a kiss on the forehead. He quickly went back to staring ahead at the washing machines, but found his head being pulled back. Lingard kissed him full on the lips.

The Working Joe looked in their direction. “Public displays of affection are prohibited in this area.”

* * *

_Spunkmeyer/Ferro_

Everyone in the squad groaned when they found out it was Spunkmeyer’s turn for laundry duty.

“He never uses fabric softener,” Drake mumbled, face planted in the plush beanbag chair in front of the television. “I’d like to put my clothes on without static.”

“Tell me about it, man,” Hudson added. “I’ve had static in my underwear.”

“And that, right there, was way too much information.” Vasquez pointed at him.

“It’s true, though.”

“Your next mistake was acting like she cares, bud,” Frost replied.

Spunkmeyer folded his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes. “OK. I can fix the issue with the fabric softener. Any other reason everyone hates me doing their clothes?”

“You never fold anything,” said Hicks. “I don’t care if the folding is a little sloppy. It’s a lot easier to sort through compared to just a basket of clothes someone haphazardly threw together.”

“Fine. I’ll fucking fold your clothes.” Spunkmeyer left the lounge, rubbing his face and sighing in frustration. He hated doing the laundry as much as everyone else hated him for doing it. He wished that such a mutual feeling would get him out of laundry until the end of his contract. Apone wasn’t budging on him, though.

“Everyone does chores whether you like it or not,” the sarge had said. “That’s life, both in and out of the Marines.”

Spunkmeyer knew Apone had a point, and there was no arguing with him. Not in a million years could you argue with him without getting your ears chewed off.

As he entered his room with a basket, Spunkmeyer noticed movement from the corner of his eye, and turned to see Ferro in the doorway.

“Hey,” she said. “Need some help?”

“Sure, if you’re offering,” Spunkmeyer replied.

Ferro walked in, gently squeezing Spunkmeyer’s shoulder. “Sorry everyone was giving you a hard time about your laundry skills.”

“Skills? Please, I have none.” Spunkmeyer tossed one of his T-shirts into the basket.

“That’s why I offered to give you some help. You helped me a lot when we were in training. My turn to help you with something.”

“Fine.”

Once the load of laundry was washed and dried, Ferro set three baskets down in front of the dryer. “Two for the guys and one for the ladies. Makes it easier to sort.”

“How am I supposed to carry all those?” Spunkmeyer asked.

“You do it one at a time. I highly recommend not putting Dietrich’s laundry in her room unless she’s not there, because if one little thing is out of place, you’re not leaving with your head. If she’s there, just wait, or put the basket by her door.”

“OK. That takes care of the sorting, but what about the folding? That takes forever.”

“You heard what Hicks said. It doesn’t matter how neat it is, because when you give it back to everyone, they’ll fold it themselves.” Ferro grinned. “Just do a simple fold, not the crazy stuff they taught us in basic.” She folded one of her T-shirts, setting it in a basket. “See? Quick and simple.”

Spunkmeyer smirked. “You know there are things I don’t like quick and simple.”

“Oh?”

“Sleeping with you.”

Ferro shook her head, laughing. “Of course not. Focus on what you’re doing, sweetie.”

“What, you don’t think me making dirty jokes will make it go by faster?”

"We're supposed to be getting the laundry clean."

"But, we have to get things dirty to make 'em clean."

"Spunkmeyer?"

"Yes?"

"That was awful."


	4. Night In

_Drake/Vasquez_

The decorative lanterns hanging on the porch glowed dimly as Drake stepped outside with a glass of whiskey. He sat on the swing, watching lights turn on up and down the street. He would turn each time a car came by, hoping it was Vasquez. She was supposed to be home from work soon.

He trusted her. He had a lot of faith in her. Didn’t stop him from being worried that something happened and she couldn’t tell him.

The street fell silent. No cars came by for several minutes. Drake glanced around each time a bird chirped. He took another sip of his drink. _Just relax. Sometimes, she runs late when they have a few extra customers in. It’s OK._

He sat up straight when he saw the truck pull into the driveway. Vasquez got out, sighing as she shut the door. “When the fuck is Hudson going to open his bar?” she asked.

“I have no idea. He has to finish his courses first,” Drake replied. “Why?”

“Because I am tired of waitressing. I know I said I’d do this until he opens his place so I can become a bouncer, but this is getting ridiculous.”

“What happened tonight?”

“Screaming children. That’s what happened.”

“Again?”

“Yes. Again. I’m at my wit’s end with this.”

Drake grinned a little. “Bit surprising considering we both want a kid someday.”

“That’s different. We’re not going to raise them to be screaming terrors in public. I will never bring my kid into a restaurant until I know they can fucking behave.” Vasquez collapsed on the swing. “Just happy to be home.”

“I’m happy you’re home, too. To be honest, I was starting to get worried.” Drake stood up. “Wanna head in?”

“Yes. I need to shower.”

“It’s all yours. I’ll have a drink poured for you when you’re done. Just relax. We don’t have to do anything fancy tonight.”

“Staying in sounds good enough. I don’t have the energy to go out.”

“You’ve been telling me that since about a week after you started your job, which was several months ago.” Drake took out an opened bottle of whiskey. “I mean, it has been a few months. Maybe it’s time you look for something else if this job is making you unhappy.”

“I can’t just quit because I’m unhappy. Do you have any idea how . . . weak that makes me look? I served six years in the Marines, and did time in prison. This shouldn’t be making me unhappy.”

Drake frowned. “But it _is_ making you unhappy. You can’t deny that. I think you can find something better.” He handed her a glass. “For now, relax. I’ll make dinner, then we can snuggle on the couch until one of us falls asleep.”

He let Vasquez take as long as she needed in the shower. As dinner cooked, he lit candles throughout the living room, and dimmed the lights.

“Is there a reason you made it so dark in here?” Vasquez asked as she came downstairs.

“You don’t think it’s romantic?” Drake uncovered a pot of pasta.

“Oh, that’s what you were going for.” Vasquez sat at the counter, watching Drake scoop generous helpings of shrimp alfredo on a plate.

“Exactly.”

“It’s cute. That’s all I’ll say.”

“Thank you, honey. You want more shrimp or more sauce?”

“No preference. At least you remember to take the tails off. They don’t bother where I work.”

“Probably because I’m not cooking for a hundred people, and I have the time to make everything just right.” Drake set the plate in front of Vasquez. “Did you have a nice shower?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Are you feeling better?”

“Starting to.”

Drake grinned, serving himself next. “Anything I can do to make it better?”

“Don’t scream about spilling lemonade on your crayon maze. That’s all I ask.”

“I can promise that won’t happen here.”

“Thank you, Drake.” Vasquez let out a sigh. “Has anyone told you you’re a surprisingly good cook?”

“You have. Probably because you’re the only person who’s had my cooking.”

“Well, you’re good.”

“Thank you. Want any music?”

“Nope. I’d like to enjoy the silence.”

Drake opened his mouth to say something else, but Vasquez covered his mouth.

“That also means don’t talk for a little while. I’ll let you know if I want anything else.”

Drake nodded, giving her a thumbs-up before finishing his whiskey. He didn’t say anything until Vasquez took both her plate and his to put them in the dishwasher. She then took his hand and led him to the couch.

“Sit,” she said. “Lay on your back.”

Laying down, Drake opened his arms. “Just don’t put your knees in my stomach or my bladder.”

“I’ll try not to.” Vasquez got on top of him, sighing as she rested her head on Drake’s chest. “This feels nice,” she said, softly. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” whispered Drake. “Anytime you need to just power down and relax, just say the word.”

* * *

_Waits/Lingard_

Waits knew it was going to be a long night when he realized he was putting his door keycard in backwards. “Shit,” he muttered, turning the card over. He gave a heavy sigh when he heard a _click_ , and the door finally opened. _Long day. Almost too long._ He turned the lights on, seeing he still had to put away the laundry he had taken care of earlier that day. _And I skipped lunch to do that._

He walked into the kitchen, mumbling to himself that he would take care of the laundry later. _Oh yeah, and Lingard’s coming over._ Waits sighed, despite knowing Lingard wouldn’t care much about how his apartment looked. He was too exhausted to care, or put much effort into anything aside from opening a beer can. Some part of him was telling him not to drink it right away, and he wondered why until he heard a growl from his stomach. _I’ll be flat on the floor drunk in front of Lingard if I don’t eat something._

There was a knock on the door, and Waits called, “Unlocked.”

Lingard walked in, smiling, and made sure the door shut behind her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Waits didn’t make eye contact with her. “How was your day?”

“Long. Not very busy. Other than you kicking the washing machine.”

Waits grinned a little. “Kinda sad when that’s the most exciting part of your day.”

“Appreciate the little things.” Lingard took off her coat. “Any plans for tonight?”

“No. Too tired. Skipped lunch, so the exhaustion is hitting me harder than it usually does.”

“Have you eaten anything yet?” Lingard noticed the open beer can on the counter. “You shouldn’t be drinking yet if your stomach’s empty.”

“I haven’t taken one sip, sweetheart. Don’t even know what I have in the fridge.”

Lingard opened the refrigerator, finding nothing but more beer and a carton of milk. “Doing some grocery shopping won’t kill you, Waits.”

“I got those knock-off Cheerios in the cabinet. You know, the whole-grain shit that’ll constipate the hell outta you, because that’s all they have down at the shops. Don’t even think about getting the raisin bran, because that’s not raisin bran; that’s raisin cardboard.”

“You need to eat something, or else no beer.”

“I have chocolate ice cream cake in the freezer.”

“That’s not dinner.”

“Well, I don’t feel like going out.”

“Then we can order something. I’m getting a Hawaiian pizza. What would you like?”

“What’s on a Hawaiian pizza?”

“Ham. Pineapple.”

Waits grimaced. “Who puts a fucking fruit on a pizza?”

“I do. If you don’t want that, you can pick your own.”

“Fine. Get a regular one for me. Oh, and if they ask what we’re having with it, ask for the breadsticks.”

Lingard picked up the phone. “OK.”

“With extra garlic butter.”

“Alright.”

“Thank you, honey.” Waits kissed her. “I’m getting a shower.”

“You’re just going to leave your beer on the counter.

“Yes.”

“You’re not worried about it going flat?”

“Don’t care. I’ve had worse.”

After placing her order, Lingard sat in the kitchen, waiting for a knock at the door, and for Waits to get out of the shower. He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, still running a towel over his hair.

“Is dinner here?” Waits asked.

“Not yet.” Lingard glanced at a clock. “They’re probably making other deliveries.” She looked back over at Waits. “You’re not going to be . . . you when they deliver it, are you?”

Waits shrugged. “Can’t promise that. I’ll do the tip, though.”

“When was the last time you paid for a whole dinner?”

“Last time we went out.” Waits was adjusting his shirt as he headed into the kitchen. “You can go shower, sweetheart. I’ll pay if you don’t want to.”

“Alright. Don’t eat the whole pizza, though.”

“You put pineapple on yours. I’d rather eat the knock-off Cheerios.”

Lingard was out of the shower by the time their food arrived. Waits had left everything in the kitchen for her, while he was in the living area.

“Wish there was more to do around here,” she said, sitting next to him.

“You’ve been on Sevastopol a lot longer than me,” Waits replied. “Thought you’d be used to this by now.”

“You don’t get used to it.” Lingard sighed. “No matter how long you’ve been here.”

When they both had eaten, they were snuggled up on the couch, with Waits flipping through television channels. He noticed Lingard against his shoulder, looking half-asleep, and pressed the mute button on the remote, setting it down before gently pulling her closer to him.

“You sleeping?” he whispered.

She shrugged.

He kissed her forehead. “You can sleep if you want. I’m not going anywhere.”


	5. Nighttime Routine

_Drake/Vasquez_

It was past nine when Drake turned off the porch lanterns outside from a switch in the kitchen. The porch went dark, but the yard was still dimly lit by the small solar lights that lined the stone pathway leading to the street. Those would stay on until midnight, when they faded out, ready to charge throughout the coming day.

He made sure the front door and garage were locked, then headed to the glass doors leading to the backyard. All the lanterns were off. All the gates were locked.

The lights downstairs were off as well, and Drake headed up to start powering himself down for the night. Vasquez was in the bathroom, washing her face. She glanced at Drake from the corner of her eye. “You need the sink?”

“You can finish what you’re doing,” Drake said. “No rush.”

Draping the wet washcloth on a bar in the shower, Vasquez stepped aside for Drake. “It still feels off not interacting with the others every day. Even stranger is that we didn’t get any surprise phone calls from Hudson.”

“And that’s another reason I don’t want to do college ever.” Drake closed the tube of toothpaste. “Takes too much time outta your life. That, and Hudson’s been having a hard time adapting to it.”

“He’s been jumpy and anxious.” Vasquez picked up her toothbrush. “I feel bad for him.”

“That’s what happens when a lot of pressure is on him. He was breaking down pretty bad on LV-426. I can’t count how many times I had to pull him aside and get his head back in the game.”

“If he can pull through that, he can pull through college.”

Drake finished brushing his teeth, spitting in the sink before responding. “The only difference between now and then is that none of us are with him.”

“We can’t baby him through it.”

“I know. Just trying to think of ways to help without it coming across as coddling.” Drake put his toothbrush away. “Ready for bed?”

Nodding, Vasquez turned to head to the bedroom. “What do you feel up for tonight? Sex or cuddling?”

“You came home exhausted. Not putting you through sex tonight.”

“I’ll take that as you’re not up for it.”

“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow night.”

The only lights on in the house were those on their nightstands. Drake had one of his journals out, while Vasquez was on her side, attempting to sleep. A few minutes later, she turned to look at him. “How about tomorrow morning? When we get up but before we get dressed?”

Drake smirked. “How about _while_ we’re getting dressed?”

“Sounds good.”

* * *

_Waits/Lingard_

Stirring against Waits, Lingard half stretched before looking at a clock. She then looked back at Waits. “It’s past ten,” she whispered. “We should head to bed.”

“And why can’t we just stay on the couch?” Waits mumbled.

“Because last time we did that, you complained about your neck. Come on. Bed.”

“OK, OK.” Waits sat up with a grunt, then followed Lingard to the bathroom. He was practically asleep on his feet while standing behind Lingard, waiting for her to finish brushing her teeth.

After rinsing her toothbrush, Lingard looked over her shoulder at Waits. “Wake up. Your turn.”

“I know. No need to point out the obvious.” Waits got in front of the sink, watching Lingard head into the bedroom from the mirror. He made a gross sound in the back of his throat before spitting in the sink, then waited with a grin on his face.

“Oh, that’s attractive!” said Lingard.

Waits laughed. “You’re welcome, honey.” He turned off the bathroom lights, plunging the apartment into darkness, before getting into bed.

“Could you turn on the light on your nightstand?” Lingard asked.

“Why?” Waits yawned.

“I thought we could talk more before going to sleep.”

“You are the one who pointed out I was falling asleep on the couch. You wanna talk now?”

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

“No, you want to talk, so we’re talking. What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

Lingard sighed. “Just . . . us.”

“What about us?”

“How we’ve been dating for a little while and how it’s been . . . an interesting experience.”

“Good or bad?”

“Different. You’re . . . you. I wasn’t expecting to like it so much.”

“Ah. Didn’t think stubborn and grumpy and foul-mouthed was your type?”

Lingard shrugged. “Did you think a doctor with two divorces under her belt and has had to sleep with Ransome just to get supplies would be your type?”

“The fact that you had two bad marriages and have had to fuck Ransome isn’t necessarily attractive, but I didn’t turn you down because of it. In fact, it doesn’t really surprise me that I would end up with a partner who had gone through shit.”

“How come?” Lingard gave him a quizzical look.

“You need someone to talk to about the shit. I’m a good listener. I may not be Prince Charming, but I listen. The only question I have is whether or not you’ll listen to me.”

“And I have listened to you.”

Waits nodded. “Yeah. That’s why we work so well. We listen to each other.” He moved to get comfortable. “Anything else you wanna talk about?”

“Nothing I can think of.”

“Alright. In that case, we’ll go to sleep.” Waits turned the light off.

Lingard was quiet for a moment, then whispered, “Waits?”

“Yes, dear?” he whispered back.

“Could we . . . try something?”

“What? Don’t say sex. We gotta have a talk about that first, and I’d like to sleep.”

“I wasn’t going to say sex. I was going to say ‘spooning.’”

“What the fuck is spooning?”

“I sleep with my back against you. You’re hugging me, and we’re . . . we’re nestled together a bit like how you’d put spoons in a drawer.”

“And you’ve seen how I put spoons in a drawer. That’s how we were when we first slept together.”

“Yes. But let’s do it how neat and tidy people put spoons away.”

“OK.” Waits opened his arms, letting Lingard snuggle against him. He hugged her tight, until she could feel his heartbeat against her back.

* * *

_Dietrich/Crowe_

“He did it again!”

Crowe looked up from shining his boots, seeing Dietrich angrily storm in with a basket of clean laundry. “Who did what again?” he asked.

“Spunkmeyer! Just left my clothes out in the hall so they could collect dust. Asshole.”

Crowe resisted a smirk. “You do tend to give him a hard time when he does the laundry.”

“Only because he is one of the most disorganized people I’ve ever met.”

“Is he better than Hudson?”

“Everyone’s better than Hudson.”

“My point exactly.” Crowe gave Dietrich a more sincere smile, then set down his boots. “I’m going to see what everyone’s doing in the lounge before bed. Care to join me?”

Dietrich shrugged. “I have to put all my clothes away.”

“You don’t have to do that now. We’ll do it together later.” Crowe stood, holding out his hand.

Sighing, Dietrich took it. “OK, but if it’s loud and crazy in there, we’re coming right back here.”

“Alright.”

It wasn’t looking good as they headed down the hallway and could hear someone yelling, followed by laughter. Dietrich gave Crowe a concerned look. “That sounded like Towers,” she whispered.

Crowe nodded. Neither of them wanted to get involved with whatever their unit’s prankster was up to that night. Odds are, she was messing with Gorman again, as she had apparently always done since they met several years ago. “Back to your room, then?”

“Yeah.” Dietrich turned around, then looked at Crowe. “Sorry. I know you prefer hanging out with everyone else.”

“I do, but I wouldn’t you to be all by yourself.”

“You don’t find my nighttime routine . . . boring, or morbid?”

“No. I learn things, and it’s sweet hearing you read your medical textbooks aloud.”

Dietrich blushed, looking down at the floor. “You’re kidding, right?”

Crowe shook his head, making Dietrich blush more. “I like learning things from you.”

“Come to think of it, you’ve never taught me anything,” said Dietrich.

“Down the line, I think we’ll find things for me to teach you.” Crowe opened the bedroom door. “I’ll go brush my teeth, then we can cuddle.”

Dietrich’s blush only deepened. She didn’t have much experience dating—Crowe was her first, and she was happy it was going so well. Crowe had been down the dating road several times, with none of his attempts working out. He definitely needed something that went beyond a physical relationship, and Dietrich was the right fit.

They both had changed since deciding to see each other more. Crowe was a lot gentler, and less willing to join the others when they went to bars at night. Dietrich was still tough to get along with, still refusing to put a filter on her thoughts, but with Crowe, she was significantly kinder, trying to learn when and when not to be so brutal.

Crowe joined Dietrich in bed as she was flipping through one of her textbooks. He put one arm around her, kissing the side of her head before whispering, “Is it true that you have old sticky notes in your books?”

Dietrich glanced at him. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Wierzbowski told me.”

“Ah. For a moment, I was afraid you were looking through my books.”

“Never. You’re not . . . embarrassed about those notes, are you?”

“Some yes, some no. I was still learning when I wrote them and some of my thoughts have changed.”

“Like how to treat certain things?”

“Yeah.” Dietrich set her book down, reaching for another one. “Get comfy. I’ll show you.”


	6. Shopping (For Needs)

_Drake/Vasquez_

“Drake, if you ask one more time if I have checked the expiration date, I will shove your head in the milk carton and keep you like that until we go home.”

Frowning, Drake stepped back. “OK. I won’t ask anymore.”

Vasquez placed the milk in the cart with a sigh.

“Can I say one thing, though?” Drake asked.

“What?”

“Please, don’t damage the eggs. I’d like to only pay for one box.”

“I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” Drake continued to slowly move their cart down the dairy aisle. “Did I put cheese on the list?”

“Yes, but you did specify what kind of cheese. What cheese do we use all the time?” Vasquez folded her arms over her chest while looking up at the rows of innumerable types of cheeses.

“Well, I prefer Swiss with my sandwiches—” Drake watched Vasquez throw a package of sliced Swiss into the cart, narrowly missing the eggs.

“There. We have cheese.”

“I use provolone in cooking. Mozzarella with pizza. Cheddar you can put on almost anything—”

“Then get it, Drake.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Drake began pulling out packages of cheese. “Ooh, this I can use with some different recipes—”

“Drake?”

“Yeah?”

“Do we absolutely need it right now?”

“No, but—”

“Then we can get it another day. Put your fancy cheese back.”

Reluctantly, Drake put some of his items back, then turned back to the cart. “Alright, we got everything from this aisle. What’s next on the list?”

“Chicken.”

“Gives us some options, then.”

Vasquez rolled her eyes as Drake parked the cart in the meat section. “Pick a package, Drake, for the love of God!”

“I did chicken breasts on the grill last weekend. Maybe I should try thighs. Or both and try to get that fried chicken recipe outta Hicks—”

“Drake, breasts or thighs, I really don’t care. Just pick one and let’s move on.”

Drake smirked at her. “I know where to get good breasts and thighs.”

Vasquez slapped him across the face before grabbing a package of chicken thighs and throwing it in the cart, again narrowly missing the eggs. “There. Made your choice for you.”

“Well, if I’m going to do thighs, I better find a good barbeque sauce to do them in.”

“We came here for the essentials, Drake, not compiling your recipe book!”

“And we are getting the essentials.” Drake got behind the cart again. “Next?”

“Fucking produce.” Vasquez followed Drake into the next section of the store, cursing in Spanish the whole way.

“OK. I know we both like tomato slices on sandwiches . . . get a package of those . . . Lettuce is good for anything . . . Carrots, potatoes . . .” Drake returned to the cart with his arms full of an assortment of vegetables. “On to the fruit—How come you’re looking at me like that, sweetie?”

“I never thought I’d see the day you would fully embrace being a civilian.”

Drake shrugged. “Guess I took to it quicker than you. Nothing wrong with that. We don’t have to rush here. We’re not gonna have our butts dragged back to base if we go past our time limit or get things we don’t necessarily need this minute.” He gave Vasquez a concerned look. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

Vasquez looked at the floor. “In a way, yeah.”

“Aw, you could’ve said something to me. It’s OK. We can take our time and enjoy ourselves.”

“Fine.” Vasquez picked up a bag of apples to drop in the cart.

Drake flinched when he heard several crunching sounds. “Honey?”

“What?”

“You broke the eggs.”

* * *

_Waits/Lingard_

A look of concern came over Lingard’s face when she spotted what looked like an abandoned shopping basket on a table outside the restroom in the Sevastopol mall. _Someone could steal this . . . I better make sure the owner gets it back._

As she got closer, she sighed when she saw the items inside the basket. Three packs of cigarettes, three cans of coffee grounds, two large bottles of nausea medicine, a smaller bottle of headache pills, and a package of toilet paper. She knew exactly who this basket belonged to. _Of course, he just left it out here._

She heard a toilet flush, a sink run, and a minute later, Waits left the restroom, still adjusting his belt. “Hi, honey,” Waits said.

“Hi.” Lingard glanced at Waits’s basket. “Weekly shopping?”

“Yep.” Waits picked up the basket.

Lingard blushed. “Would you like some company?”

“Yeah, sure.” Waits looked around, and headed in the direction of the appliances to look for coffee filters. He sighed, muttering to himself about what else he needed as he searched the shelves for the filters.

“Doing OK? You’re talking to yourself,” said Lingard.

“I’m alright. Just getting my shit for the week.” Waits wasn’t making eye contact with her as she spoke. “How about you?”

Lingard shrugged. “I’m good. Thought you’d be working.”

“Not now. My next shift is in a few hours, though. Gonna be walking around the mall till the dinner rush hour, then I’m done for the day.” Waits glanced at her as he took a package of filters from the shelf. “If you wanted to go get dinner, I’m open.”

“I’d love to, but I was invited to one of the bars with some of the nurses. They were talking about how I haven’t been hanging out with them and want to know who the new boyfriend is.”

“They know about me?”

“No. They’re just assuming that a new boyfriend is the reason I haven’t been hanging out with them.”

“Oh.” Waits paused, thinking. “So . . . are you going to tell them it’s me?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“If you want to tell them, that’s your choice. Not like I’m gonna be there to hear your friends talk crap about me.”

Lingard gave him a sad look. “I don’t think they’d talk crap about you, not after I explain how much of a teddy bear you are.”

Waits snorted. “Really?”

“What?”

“You think I’m a teddy bear. That’s cute.”

“It is, and you are.”

“You’re not saying I’m overly soft, are you?”

“No, not at all. You’re only mushy around me.” Lingard followed Waits down the rest of the aisle.

“Well, you go have fun with the nurses. I’m . . . probably gonna be alone in my apartment, which reminds me—” Waits turned to head to the liquor section of the store. He set his basket down as he opened one of the freezers to pull out a case of beer bottles.

“That’s how you’re going to spend your night? Drinking?”

“Yeah. You have your companions. I have none.” Waits studied Lingard’s face. “Something you have an issue with?”

“You need friends, Waits.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Survived years and years without any.” Waits picked up his basket. “Don’t see what has to change now.”

“You’ve admitted to me that you’re lonely.” Lingard thought for a moment. “Maybe you can join us tonight.”

“Will we leave if things start getting awkward?”

“Sure.”

“OK.” Waits sighed. “I’ll come with you.”

Lingard set down her basket to hug him, and kiss his cheek. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Waits offered a smirk. “I’ll try to behave, because I’m doing this for you.” He nuzzled her forehead, and suddenly he didn’t want to let go.

Lingard picked up her basket, one arm still around Waits. She didn’t look like she wanted to let go, either. “So, what else do you have to get?”

“Here at the store? I dunno.” Waits kissed her, drinking in the scent of her lotion. “Cans of soup.” He kissed her again. “Milk.” Another kiss. “You know, important stuff.”

“Same. Important stuff.” Lingard let out a quiet sigh.

“Could you kiss me back already, honey?”

Lingard dropped her basket to take Waits’s face, kissing him full on the lips.

“Honey?” Waits said, slightly muffled. “Eggs. You broke your eggs.”

“I’ll worry about it later. You wanted a kiss.”


	7. Exercise

_Drake/Vasquez_

The only sounds in the living room were an oscillating fan humming and the pull-up bar softly creaking as Drake steadily pulled himself partway over it. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard someone coming down the stairs behind him.

“Is it holding up?” Vasquez asked.

“So far, yeah,” replied Drake. He pulled himself up again. “Just followed the instructions on the box to install it. It’s not too high or too low. Wierzbowski might have to duck a little next time he visits, but it shouldn’t be too much of an issue.”

“Honestly, the real test is to have Hudson pig out and jump on it to see if it breaks.”

Drake smirked. “Nah. If it breaks, then I’ll have to learn how to work with drywall and all that. Hicks would know how to help, but I’m not dragging his ass from base over something stupid.”

“Good point.” Vasquez moved around Drake to get into the living room. “You did a nice job with it.”

“Thanks.” Drake lowered himself down from the bar. “Easy, brief workout we can do every day.”

Vasquez nodded, then walked over to the windows to close the blinds. “Now do it shirtless, like you always did during daily PT.”

“Sexy workout?” Drake snorted. “Alright.” He placed his T-shirt on the arm of the couch, grinning.

Vasquez leaned against the wall, her smile getting bigger as Drake pulled himself up, his muscles contracting and relaxing as he moved.

“Enjoying the show?” Drake grunted.

“Very much.” Vasquez walked over, running her finger down Drake’s ribcage. “And the show is free.”

“Hey, you and Ferro and Dietrich got a free show every time all of us guys were in the gym.”

“Honestly, you and Frost were the only two worth watching.”

“Ferro would argue Spunkmeyer.”

Vasquez grimaced. “He’s not attractive in the slightest. I don’t know what she sees in him.”

“Apparently, he is fantastic in bed.”

“How the fuck would you know?”

“Ferro and I talk.”

“And one of your topics is sex with your partners?”

Drake shrugged as best he could while hanging from the bar. “Yeah.”

“Like it’s just an average . . . topic?”

“Yeah. I guess it comes with living in close quarters for a long time. That, and I did help her and Spunkmeyer when they were trying to process their feelings for each other.” Drake shifted his hands on the bar, then drew his legs up to avoid touching the floor as he hung down.

Vasquez gave him a look. “What do you tell her about me?”

“Nothing bad. I tell her I enjoy every second with you in bed and I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

“God’s honest truth?”

“God’s honest truth. Besides—” Drake let go of the bar, “I wouldn’t ask you to put on a show for me if I didn’t enjoy you.”

“Even though I’ve outmatched everyone with pull-ups and put the rest of the squad to shame?”

“Actually, Gorman beat your record.”

Vasquez glared at Drake. “When?”

“January, I think.”

“And who told you that?”

“Frost.” Drake shrugged. “Sorry, honey. Gorman is a former Vent Rat, and they are trained to be pretty flexible.”

“I know what they are, Drake.” Vasquez hopped up to grab the pull-up bar. “Fine. Gorman beat my record fair and square. I’ll work to beat his.”

Drake grinned. “What was your record?”

“Eighty in two minutes.

“Ah, yeah . . . his is ninety-five and he’s aiming for a hundred.”

“Bullshit.”

Drake shook his head. “Ask him to show you next time we see him.”

“Did he even say he’s coming to the wedding?”

“He hasn’t decided yet.”

“Well, tell him to get his ass here. I’ll do pull-ups in a wedding gown.”

“Ooh, I’d like to see that.” Drake laughed.

“Shut up.”

* * *

_Waits/Lingard_

Carrying a vase of plastic flowers and a chocolate bar in his jaws, Waits hurried down the San Cristobal hallways, muttering to himself that he should have the way to Lingard’s office mapped out in his head by now.

His thoughts were thrown off track when he heard someone say, “You’re a natural! Good job!” and turned his head to see Dr. Morley kneeling in front of a small group of children in one of the recovery wards. The kids were all doing push-ups (poorly, Waits noted), and Morley was coaching them.

Unfortunately, Waits didn’t go unnoticed, despite his efforts to sneak away. “Hello, Marshal!”

Face reddening, Waits saw Morley waving to him from the corner of his eye. “What?”

“Just saying ‘hello.’” Morley stood up. “Gift for Lingard?”

“Yeah. And what the fuck are you doing?”

Morley gave Waits a dirty look. “How many times do we have to tell you to watch your language in front of—”

“Don’t care.”

Morley sighed. “Anyway, I’m helping with these kids’ physical therapy. Simple things for now. You can join us if you want.”

Waits laughed. “Aww, thanks for the offer, Morley, but I’d rather swallow and shit a literal brick than shame myself in a room full of children.”

Morley wasn’t smiling. “Personally, I think a bit of exercise would be good for you, Marshal, even at your age.”

“Oh, piss off, Morley.” Waits turned and kept heading down the hall, eventually finding Lingard’s office. He knocked on the door.

Lingard answered. “Hi . . . what is this?”

“I saw these at the dollar store,” Waits said, putting the vase on Lingard’s desk.

A grin spread across Lingard’s face. “You’re adorable, Waits.” She sighed, looking at the plastic flowers. “That’s it? You just came to give me fake flowers?”

“No. I came to give you this—” Waits kissed her forehead, “and to tell you that Morley is an ass.”

“Alright, is Morley actually being an ass, or are you just being you right now?”

“He had the balls to tell me I need to exercise more in front of a bunch of children.”

“Waits.”

“What?”

“He’s kinda right.”

“Fuck.”

“Does it feel better coming from me?”

Waits folded his arms over his chest. “OK. Maybe I’ve let myself go over the years and I’m not exactly in the shape I was when I graduated training, but I don’t have the time in my day to do any kind of workout.”

“Don’t have the time or don’t want people seeing you exercise?”

Waits mumbled under his breath, “Both.”

“You’ve seen how empty Sevastopol is, sweetie. There are plenty of places where you can sneak away and do some basic exercises without a soul seeing you. I’ll even show you.”

“Please don’t hurt yourself, honey.”

The two left San Cristobal, walking a ways before coming to a hall that looked like it hadn’t seen use in years. Lingard gestured to the low-hanging bars on the walls and ceiling. “Have at it.”

“Have at what?”

“Anything.”

Waits let out a sigh. “Probably gonna regret this,” he muttered.

Lingard folded her arms over her chest. “Just pick something and try it.”

“OK.” Waits looked up at one of the bars, and jumped to grab it. He hung there, grunting and trying to pull himself up.

Lingard walked over, watching him struggle. She then headed over to a closet, disappearing inside. A minute later, she returned with a chair. “Stand on this and put your chin over the bar.”

“OK.” Waits did as he was told.

“Now, I’m going to take the chair out from under you. Cross your legs, and try to hold that position as long as you can.”

Waits remained somewhat still after pulling himself up, letting Lingard take the chair out.

“Don’t hold your breath. Try to breathe naturally and evenly.”

Waits let out his breath, body shaking as he struggled to hold his position. “Jesus, this burns more than I thought.”

“That’s a good feeling. Where are you feeling it?”

“In my arms.”

“Alright. You’ll start to feel it elsewhere soon. You’re doing good, sweetie, don’t quit now.”

Waits shut his eyes, trying not to think about the sharpening ache searing through him. _This hurts. Fuck, this hurts._ He grunted, struggling to resist the urge to drop.

There was a loud _clang_ , and Waits found himself on the floor, an even fiercer pain shooting up his back. Bits of rust were falling from the pipes the bar he was holding used to be connected to.

“Are you OK?” Lingard ran over to him.

“I think I broke my tailbone,” Waits grunted.

“Can you stand?”

“Don’t know, honey.”

“Well, put the bar down, and give me your hand.”

Waits had to hold both Lingard and the wall to get back up, and walking hurt. “God, I probably look like I just shit myself.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Fine? I fell on my ass, and it hurts, woman!”

“I’ll give you an icepack when we get to my office.”

“Just don’t let anybody see me like this.”

It took longer than usual to get back to San Cristobal, and Waits feigned a limp with his right leg, leaning against Lingard the whole way.

“You don’t have to do that,” she hissed.

“Do you have any idea what people will say if they see me walking like a two-year-old with a full diaper?” Waits snarled.

“You look more like an old man who’s lost his cane.”

“Oh, don’t you start calling me an old man, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t call you an old man.” Lingard yanked Waits’s cap. “Stop being such a grouch! You’re gonna be fine!”

“I am not being a grouch! I hurt!”

“You are being a grouch!”

“You’re being a grouch, too, you know!”

“I’m trying to help you, and you’re being an ass!”

“I am an ass, and damn fucking proud of it!”

Lingard shoved Waits as hard as she could. “You are aggravating to deal with sometimes!”

Waits was about to retaliate when he noticed Lingard covering her face. He heard her sob, and guilt pierced his chest like an icicle. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Lingard didn’t answer.

“Aw, Lingard, don’t cry.” Waits hugged her, gently pressing her head against his shoulder. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I know I can be difficult.” He kissed her. “You accept my apology?”

“Yeah.” Lingard hugged him back. “You are difficult, but . . .”

“But what?”

“But I still love you.”

“Why’re you crying, though?”

“Because I’m trying to help and you’re being a pain!”

“And what did you expect?”

Lingard sighed. “I don’t know.”

Waits kissed her again. “I’m sorry. I’ll . . . I’ll shut up from here to San Cristobal.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

* * *

_Spunkmeyer/Ferro_

“We are not quitting till I see you all sweating!” Gorman shouted, pacing around the row of Marines doing sit-ups on the floor of the gym. “Come on, let’s move a little faster, people!”

“You heard the man! If he says move, you move!” Apone added.

“What if we’re stuck?” Spunkmeyer groaned.

“If Gorman ever told you to fart, you’d have to fart, Goddammit! Get back up!”

“Oh, Sarge, don’t make Spunkmeyer fart!” Frost laughed. “We’d have to clear the gym!”

“It’d make you all move, wouldn’t it?” Hicks said. “Seriously, focus on your exercises. We have inspection next month and the general wants to see us all in shape.”

Spunkmeyer looked at Ferro, who was sitting on his boots as he performed his sit-ups.

“Unless you like them yelling at you, sit up,” Ferro said, somewhat flatly.

“I thought you liked just watching me lie here shirtless.”

“I do, but I don’t need Gorman and Apone and Hicks yelling at you to get the fuck up.”

“OK, I’ll sit up.” Spunkmeyer grunted as he tried to sit up.

“Breathe in as you sit up, out as you go back down.”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re such an embarrassment, Spunkmeyer,” Dietrich said with a sigh.

“Skipping out on exercises to play with the powerloader,” Frost added.

“Oh, shut up!” Spunkmeyer lay back down, breathing hard.

Gorman appeared over him. “You got down, now you get back up.”

“OK, sir.” Spunkmeyer sat back up.

“Not that hard.” Gorman moved on.

Spunkmeyer let out his breath. “I hate this.”

“I know. But you’ll get to watch me do it when you finish.”

“That’s all the motivation I need.” Spunkmeyer attempted to do more sit-ups, but was quick to run out of steam. Sweat covered his head, neck, and chest. “How many left?”

“You actually passed the number,” Ferro said. “My turn.”

“Good. Finally.” Spunkmeyer got off the floor, soreness spreading through his body like wildfire. “Gonna feel worse in the morning, that’s for sure.”

Ferro sat up, leaning in to whisper, “I’ll give you a massage to help you feel better.”

“Oh, please do.” Spunkmeyer gave a quiet moan.

“Shh!” Ferro held back a giggle while pressing a finger to Spunkmeyer’s lips. “Save that enjoyment for later.”

Spunkmeyer snorted. “We’ll be doing our own form of exercise.”

“Yeah, one that wears you out just as quickly as normal exercise.”

“Less talking, more sitting up,” Hicks called.


	8. Wearing Each Other's Clothes

_Waits/Lingard_

Sevastopol was at its most dark and silent in the middle of the night. The only sound Lingard could hear was Waits’s breathing. It was even, quiet. She turned to look at him. His silver hair was partly falling over his forehead, lips parted slightly.

Though he was fast asleep, she kissed him, then pressed her forehead against his. He twitched a little, but didn’t wake up.

He looked quite peaceful compared to his grouchy self while he was awake, but he could be sweet and less grouchy when he wanted to. Lingard wouldn’t have him any other way. She appreciated his honesty. Everything, no matter how crude, was genuine.

Waits was a deep sleeper. Lingard had been lying awake, observing him, listening to his breathing, and he barely moved or reacted. He had showered right before bed, and the smell of his body wash was still fresh. It was a brand and smell she had encountered before, but on Waits, it was special. It was him. It was comforting. It let her know she was safe and had nothing to worry about. It let her know that her workday was over and that she could relax. It let her know somebody loved her.

She risked waking him by trying to bury herself against him, hug him and snuggle him for the rest of the night. Before she did, she noticed his jacket hanging on a hook near the door of the apartment. She remembered him saying that jacket was comfortable, that he had it for years. _That and his cap are probably the two articles of clothing that smell the most like him._

It felt a little odd, but she wanted to experience that, being enveloped in his warmth and comfort. Quietly leaving the bed, Lingard tiptoed over to the jacket. She nearly jumped when Waits snorted in his sleep, breaking the silence, and watched him stretch and adjust his position. He gave a slight grunt, then was still once more. He was still on his side, and that was perfect to Lingard.

Releasing her breath, Lingard took the jacket from its hook. It was cold from hanging there without a wearer, but it smelled like Waits. Still trying to be as silent as possible, Lingard slipped the jacket on. It was a bit big on her, designed for someone slightly taller, and Lord did that jacket see use. There were small rips, tears, scuffs, and scratches covering it. The silver paint on the zipper and its teeth was chipping. There was a sweater-like material under it, and that, too, was well-worn. But it was comfortable, and she liked it. She hugged herself, trying to warm up the jacket. She rubbed her arms and body, then closed the zipper. Waits almost always wore his jacket open, so she thought it looked funny when she saw herself in the mirror with the jacket closed.

With the jacket warmed up, Lingard headed back over to the bed. She unzipped the jacket before crawling under the covers. Waits was still out like a light. Covering herself and the jacket with the blanket, Lingard snuggled as close as she could to Waits. She buried herself in the jacket and nestled against Waits’s chest. _Perfect._ She let out a quiet sigh, happy, content, comfortable beyond her wildest dreams. No matter what happened the day before, or what was going to happen tomorrow, she felt like she was ready for whatever was next.

As she was about to drop off, Lingard felt Waits putting his arms around her. He gave her a sleepy kiss on the forehead. “Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she whispered back. “Did I wake you?”

“Eh . . . kinda. Just felt you pressing against me and took that as you wanted to cuddle. I don’t mind.” Waits adjusted to get comfortable, resting his forehead against Lingard’s. “Bad dreams?”

“No. Enjoying your company.”

“Ah.” Waits blinked, then frowned. “How come you’re wearing my jacket?”

“It smells like you.”

“I smell like me. You didn’t need to wear my jacket for that.”

Lingard shrugged.

Waits sighed. “You look cozy and I’m too tired to tell you to take it off.” He kissed her again. “Now my jacket’s gonna smell like you.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, not at all. Means I’ll be thinking about you at work tomorrow, and daydreaming about you, and thinking about doing this again.”

Lingard smiled. “I thought you weren’t a sap.”

“Only for you.”


	9. Nursing the Sick One

_Drake/Vasquez_

Drake was dimly aware of the fact that both Vasquez and Hudson were standing over him, though it was hard to focus on their conversation with the throbbing in his head.

“There’s two weeks till your wedding, man, is he gonna be feeling better by then?” Hudson was asking.

“He’ll be fine,” Vasquez replied. “It’s a fucking sinus infection. He gets them at the start of every fall, remember?”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing. Drake is gonna be fine. Unless you have something important to say, please leave.”

“I can help take care of him, Vas—”

“Can you name one person who’d like you around when they’re sick?”

Hudson shrugged. “Anyone other than Dietrich? And you?” He ducked when Vasquez threw a pillow at him. “I mean, I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No, but it’s not helping Drake rest, so get out!”

“Why dontcha ask Drake what he wants?”

Drake wasn’t sure what he wanted, nor could he voice it with the pain in his head. He let out a moan.

“And there’s your answer,” Vasquez said. “Out.”

“That didn’t sound like ‘out,’ man,” Hudson muttered.

“I don’t care. Drake needs to sleep.”

Hudson sighed. “Fine. Bet you’d let ’Ski in, man.”

“Wierzbowski is less annoying than you.”

Drake managed to lift his head. “Honey, if you want me to get some sleep, arguing with Hudson isn’t the best idea.” He dropped his head back on the pillow.

Vasquez glared at Hudson, who put his fingers to his lips. Without a second thought, Vasquez pinched Hudson’s ear before dragging him to the front door.

“Hey! Ow! That’s not quiet, Vas! You’re gonna wake up Drake!”

“Just go home, Hudson.” Vasquez closed the door after Hudson left, giving a heavy sigh. She returned to the living room, kneeling by Drake and kissing his warm cheek. “You can sleep now.”

“You didn’t have to kick Hudson out,” Drake mumbled.

“No, but you know me and you know him. Do you really think having us in the same place without supervision is a good idea?”

“He can be less annoying when he tries.” Drake adjusted himself, trying to get more comfortable. “I’m gonna try to sleep. Do whatever you need to do, honey.”

“Right.” Vasquez dropped another blanket on top of Drake, as well as the television remote. She turned to head into the kitchen. There were no dishes in the sink, or the dishwasher. There was no laundry in the washer or the dryer. Drake had already taken some medicine to ease his headache.

Sighing, Vasquez went back into the living room. Without hesitating, she pulled back the blankets and joined Drake on the couch, throwing the blankets back over them.

“Oh, is _this_ why you wanted Hudson out?” Drake whispered. “So we could cuddle?”

“I wasn’t intending on doing this, but there’s nothing else to do.”

“Could mow the lawn.”

“You did that two days ago.”

“Clean the bathrooms?”

“Did that yesterday.”

Drake shrugged and nodded. “Alright. There’s nothing to do.” He put his arm around Vasquez. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Drake.” Vasquez got comfortable, pressing close against him and putting her arms around his ribcage. “Now go to sleep.”

* * *

_Waits/Lingard_

Half-asleep, Waits rolled over in bed to hug Lingard and plant a lazy good-morning kiss on her forehead. When his hand touched nothing but sheets, he opened his eyes, confused. “Lingard?” He sighed, before glancing around and seeing the bathroom door was closed. “Oh, she’s just in the bathroom,” he mumbled, putting his head back on the pillow. He could sleep for another minute or two, and gave a contented sigh.

The content didn’t last long when he heard a retching sound coming from the bathroom. “Aw, fuck,” he moaned, getting out of bed. Not bothering to put on his pants, he walked over to knock on the bathroom door. “Honey? You OK in there?”

The response he got was more retching.

“I’m coming in there!” Waits said.

“You don’t want to come in here!” Lingard cried.

“Yes, I do. Are you going to stop me?”

“Waits—”

Waits opened the door, seeing Lingard kneeling in front of the toilet. Her hair was a mess, and a blend of saliva and vomit was running down her chin. “What happened to you?” Waits asked.

“What do you think happened?” Lingard looked back down into the toilet.

“Are you sick, or did you have something bad last night?”

Lingard didn’t respond. Her muscles tensed as she retched again.

Waits sighed before kneeling by her. “Once you get it all up, I’ll help you to the couch, alright?”

“I don’t know if I even want to leave the bathroom!” Lingard sobbed.

“You’re gonna be fine once you’re completely empty.” Waits gently rubbed Lingard’s shoulder. “And I’m not gonna leave.”

“You have work.”

“And everyone wants me to use my personal days. It’ll be fine. You’ll have to let Morley know you’re not feeling good.”

“I don’t even know if I can walk.”

“You’ll be alright. I’ll be here the whole time. There’s no need to cry.” Waits was again gentle as he helped Lingard to stand. “Nice and slow, honey, you’re alright . . . Easy does it.”

Lingard’s face was wet with tears. She tried to grip Waits’s hand as tight as she could.

“That’s it.” Waits offered a grin. “Short walk to the couch, OK?” He helped her lie down, and kissed her forehead. “Why’re you crying? Are you in that much pain?”

“I haven’t missed a day of work in years.”

“Alright, and maybe this is a sign you need to slow down and take some time to take care of yourself. Like I’ve been saying for months.” Waits draped a blanket on Lingard. “Just relax and rest, OK?”

“Can you call Morley?”

“Is his number by your phone?”

“Yes. If he doesn’t pick up, call the San Cristobal line, then dial his extension.”

“And where the fuck is his extension?”

“By his name in the San Cristobal directory.”

“Where’s the fucking directory?”

“By the phone.”

“Thanks, honey.”

“Please don’t be a pain while I’m incapacitated, OK, Waits?”

“OK, honey.” Waits picked up the phone, and began thumbing through Lingard’s tiny notebook. “Hey, how come Ransome’s number is in here?”

“Because I forgot to erase it.”

“It’s in pen.”

“Then cross it out.”

Waits dialed Morley’s number while biting the cap off a sharpie marker to cross out Ransome’s phone number. Almost as soon as the tip of the marker touched the paper, Morley picked up.

“Hello?” Morley said, sounding like he had just woken up.

“Hey, it’s Waits. Lingard’s sick.”

“Sick? With what?”

“I dunno. She just got done throwing up.”

“Was there any blood?”

“No. Anyways, I called to say she’s not coming in. I’ll take care of her.”

“I’ll probably stop by and check—”

“I’ll take care of her. Have fun at work today, Morley.” Waits hung up, and turned to face Lingard. “So, we have the whole day together now.”

“Waits, I want to try and sleep,” Lingard moaned.

“You don’t have to do anything. I’ll do everything.”

“I’ve been in your apartment. You don’t know how to keep things neat and organized, and everything smells like cigarettes—”

“You just said you wanted to get some sleep, but you have the energy to complain about my apartment.” Waits threw another blanket on Lingard. “Have some faith in me.”

For the next two hours, Lingard managed to sleep. Waits took advantage of that by getting more sleep of his own, but he awoke feeling like he wasn’t alone in the bed. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Waits turned his head to see Lingard curled up next to him. “I thought I put you on the couch,” he mumbled.

“I have chills,” she said. “And I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“OK. Come ’ere.” Waits pulled Lingard closer, feeling her trembling against him. He kissed her, feeling how warm her forehead was. “You’re feverish, honey.”

“I know. Please hold me.”

“Whatever you want.” Waits had never heard Lingard ask to be held like this before. He stroked her hair and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”


	10. Hair

_Drake/Vasquez_

A look of disgust came over Vasquez’s face when she pulled a piece of short blond hair from an apple in the fruit basket on the counter. She swore in Spanish before yelling, “DRAKE!”

Drake appeared from the living room. “Yes, dear?”

“I found your hair on an apple!”

“Sorry.” Drake shrugged. “I mean, I’ve found your hair on stuff in the fridge.”

“Oh, bullshit, my hair is too short. It’s probably Hudson’s. Especially since you found it in the fucking fridge.”

“Good point.” Drake glanced at Vasquez. “Just a thought, would you ever grow out your hair?”

“Probably not.” Vasquez gave Drake a look. “Why?”

“Just curious. I think you’d look beautiful no matter what length your hair is.”

“I’ve had mine so short for so long that I can’t . . . see myself with anything else.”

“Up to you.”

Vasquez sighed. “I know nothing about hair. What if, down the road, we have a girl and she wants to learn how to braid and style her hair? I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“We’re talking a few _years_ down the road,” Drake said. “I think you’ll be fine.” He paused, then said, “You never bring up becoming a parent, though. Is there something on your mind?”

Vasquez shrugged. “It’s something we’ve both talked about in the past.”

“Yeah, but today was the first time you brought it up without any prompting from me. Are you . . . becoming a bit more accepting of the idea?”

“I think I am.”

“Well, if you’re still unsure, then we won’t come to a decision yet. Like I said, few more years. Plenty of time to think and learn.” Drake opened the refrigerator, taking out a beer can. “I mean, if we have a boy, there’s some stuff I need to learn, too. Regardless, I think we’re both in agreement we’re gonna give our kid everything we didn’t have when we were growing up.”

“Love, understanding, and the ability to listen.”

Drake nodded. “And it won’t be just us. We’ll have Hudson and Wierzbowski and Ferro and Spunkmeyer and Hicks and everyone else. We can always turn to them for help.”

“Yeah.” Vasquez smiled a little. “I can’t believe we had this conversation because I found one of your hairs in the fruit basket.”

“Same here.” Drake pulled a strand of dark hair off his beer can. “I think you’re right, honey, this does look like Hudson’s.”

“Told you.”

* * *

_Waits/Lingard_

“Honey. Could you come here, please?”

Lingard set down her cup of tea to see what Waits wanted. He was still only partially dressed in the bathroom, looking more grumpy than Lingard had ever seen him before. “What?”

“How come I’m finding your hair on my comb?”

Lingard sighed. “Because we all shed and it just happened to land on your comb.”

“Oh, no, honey, this is the second time I’ve found it _entwined_ on the teeth. Why the fuck would you use my comb?”

“Gee, maybe mine broke and I haven’t had time to go buy a new one.”

Waits snorted. “It’s too early in the morning for me to be picking your hair outta my shit.”

“What happened to the Waits that likes to bury his face in my hair every time we run into each other during the day?”

“That’s different. And that Waits hasn’t had his coffee or breakfast yet.”

“Ah, so, not-grumpy Waits needs to have his caffeine levels restored and his stomach filled before he can come out.”

“Exactly.” Waits squeezed a generous glob of paste onto his toothbrush.

Lingard ran her fingers through her hair. Waits kept glancing at her as she did.

“Jesus, Waits, you’re looking at me like I’m taking my bra off or something,” Lingard sighed.

“Your hair looks so soft,” Waits replied with his toothbrush still in his mouth.

“I know. And you’ve said that a hundred times.” She smirked at him. “Yours is very soft, too.” Her grin widening, Lingard reached over to touch Waits’s hair, but he leaned down to make a loud snorting sound before spitting in the sink. “You’re disgusting sometimes.”

“Thanks for noticing.”

Lingard gently scratched the back of Waits’s head before he had a chance to get back up.

“That actually feels good.”

A part of Lingard wanted to keep moving downward with her hands. Down Waits’s shirt to massage his back. She held back, knowing they didn’t have time.

They parted ways after breakfast in the Galleria. Waits headed up to the Marshal Bureau. Lingard headed to the transit station to get to SciMed. Waits’s scent was still lingering on her. _Seems like a silly thing for me to think I could bottle his scent and carry it everywhere._ She sighed. She had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be in love. _And he’s . . . very different than everyone I’ve loved in the past. Very different. In so many ways._

As she entered her office in San Cristobal, Lingard suddenly had the feeling someone was behind her, and she knew it wasn’t Waits. Setting her purse on her desk, she turned to see Ransome standing in the doorway.

He was grinning. “’Morning, Doc.”

“Good morning.” Lingard tried to be pleasant.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while. You have my number, remember?”

Lingard could dimly remember Waits had crossed out Ransome’s number in her contacts book while she was sick, but she certainly couldn’t tell him that. “Yes. I have your number.”

“So, why don’t you call? Someone told me you and Morley here need some new syringes. I could talk to somebody to get you some for a cheap price. Could even get you some surplus.”

“Your price is never cheap.”

“One night. That’s all I—” Ransome paused. “Hold still.” He took something from Lingard’s shoulder, and pulled away with a strand of silver hair. His eyes narrowed to light-brown slits. “So, you and Waits _are_ dating.”

Lingard stared at the strand between Ransome’s thumb and index finger, speechless. “No, we—”

“Don’t give me bullshit. I’ve seen how you look at each other, and I’ve wondered why you’ve stopped contacting me ever since he arrived not that long ago.” Ransome gave Lingard a hard look. “Of all the men on this station, you pick a Marshal. Why?”

“I didn’t ‘pick’ him, he—”

“Oh, quit playing innocent with me. You picked him because of what he can do to me—”

Ransome stopped when someone cleared their throat behind him. He turned around, seeing Waits folding his arms over his chest.

“What’re you doing in here?” Waits asked.

“Marshal, I’m . . . seeing Lingard—”

“No. You’re being a pain-in-the-ass. Get out and leave her alone before I give you a colonoscopy right here with my revolver.”

Ransome’s left eye twitched before storming out of Lingard’s office.

Lingard was silent, waiting until Ransome was out of earshot. She looked at Waits. “You came at the right time.”

“Gut instinct.” Waits shrugged. “Something was telling me to check on you before going up to work, so I did.”

Lingard nodded, swallowing past her tears. “He found a strand of your hair on my shirt.”

“So?”

“So, he knows we’re together.”

“A piece of hair on your shirt means jack shit.” Waits smirked. “Didn’t you say we all shed and that hair could’ve happened to land on your shirt?”

That brought a smile to Lingard’s face. She blushed a little before walking over to throw her arms around Waits’s neck.

“What’s with the hugging and the tears?” Waits asked.

“I love you. Thanks.” Lingard kissed him, and pulled away as slowly as she could.

“If Ransome starts being a pain again, just call me, alright?” Waits grinned before pulling away. “Alright, I gotta get to work. See you tonight.”


	11. Christmas Prompt

**Christmas OTP: Who has placed mistletoe in every room of the house to get in as many kisses as possible and who is exasperatedly questioning “This is the fifth time today, where is all this mistletoe coming from?!” before sighing and leaning in.**

* * *

_Drake/Vasquez_

The sound of jingling broke the silence of the house as Drake set four plastic bags on the dining room table. Despite knowing he had two hours before Vasquez came home, he glanced around to ensure he was alone, and a mischievous grin crossed his face. _First Christmas out of the Marines. First real Christmas Vas has ever had. I should make this special._

The table was soon covered in multicolored lights, bells, garland, fake pine branches, and sprigs of mistletoe. Candy cane hanging from his jaws, Drake picked up a strand of lights. _If this doesn’t make my house a Christmas wonderland, I don’t know what will—_ His thoughts stopped when someone knocked on the door. Panicking, he went to the window, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was only Hudson.

“It’s freezing out here, man, lemme in!” Hudson called behind a stack of wrapped presents.

Drake opened the door. “What’s all this? Christmas isn’t for another three weeks.”

“I know, man, but—” Hudson set the gifts on the floor before taking off his boots, “Miranda wants them outta the apartment because they’re taking up a lotta room.”

“Have you two thought about getting a house? Or at least a bigger apartment?”

“We’re looking, but Miranda likes being close to her job and I like being walking distance from the subway. Just more convenient for both of us.” Hudson picked up the stack of gifts, carrying them over to the tree in the living room. “All this stuff is for you and Vas, so don’t open anything till Christmas morning.”

“I’m not exactly five years old.” Drake went back to the dining room table. “While you’re here, you want anything? I got—” he pulled a large tin of hot chocolate powder from one of the bags he left on a chair, “enough hot chocolate to last till spring.”

“Not if you let me have some, man.” Hudson’s eyes went wide when he saw the mess of decorations on the table. “Jesus, man, it looks like a North Pole orgy here.”

“I want to make this Christmas special for Vasquez,” Drake replied.

“Didn’t you do that for every Christmas while you were in the Corps?”

“Yeah, but this is our first Christmas as civilians. And then next year is gonna be our first as a married couple.”

“How much mistletoe do you really need?” Hudson picked up a bundle of fake mistletoe. “There’s no way she’s gonna put up with you kissing her in every doorway.”

“We’ll see. Just help me get this stuff up, and I’ll let you take a tin of cookies early.”

Not one to refuse food, Hudson followed Drake into the kitchen, still holding the mistletoe.

* * *

It had started snowing hard when Vasquez returned home from work. She silently cursed the cold. It wasn’t something she grew up with, but it was something she had to get used to. Sighing, she put her key in the door lock, and expected to hear a single _click_ when she turned it. Instead, there was a _click_ , followed by jingling when she pushed the door open.

The house was dim, save for a multitude of colored lights lining the entryway and on the tree in the living room. Garland and fake branches covered every doorway, from the stairwell to the glass doors leading to the backyard. Holly and mistletoe were scattered everywhere. Vasquez hung up her jacket, stunned at the sight, and whispered, “What the fuck happened here?” As she stepped further inside, she realized Drake was nowhere to be seen. “Drake! Where are you, _pendejo?!_ What have you done to my house?!”

Drake jogged down the stairs. A necklace of bells, along with his signature bones and dogtags from service, hung against his chest. “Hi, honey,” he said.

“I’ll say it again, what did you do to the house?”

“Do you like it?”

“I’m not answering that until you tell me what possessed you to do this.”

“Well, you did, actually.”

Vasquez snorted. “Oh, I certainly don’t remember telling you to crap Christmas decorations all over the house!”

“That’s not what I meant.” Drake stepped into the doorway between the stairs and living room, and reached up to tap the bells nestled in a sprig of mistletoe. Vasquez was still fuming when Drake leaned down to kiss her. “It’s our first Christmas out of the Marines, so I wanted to make it special.”

“You made it special alright.”

“Come on. Is there anything about this that you like?”

“Give me some time to think about it.”

“OK. Go take a shower and get comfy while I make dinner.”

Vasquez had been hoping that the Christmas decorations hadn’t spilled upstairs, but as the second floor came into view, she swore in Spanish when she saw the lights lining the halls and doorways—including the bathroom. In every doorway was mistletoe. She paused at the top of the stairs. “If you’re using this fucking mistletoe as an excuse to get more kisses, you’re dead wrong, Drake!”

Drake shouted back, “I love you, too, honey!”

* * *

_Waits/Lingard_

“If the heating system breaks again, we’re sure as hell gonna have snow in here,” Waits grunted, sitting across from Lingard in the Galleria.

“I think I’ve seen snow once or twice in my entire life,” Lingard replied. “It’s not exactly a common occurrence in Hawaii.”

“Oh, that I knew. We’d have so much of it where I grew up that it took till June for it all to melt. Then you just had mud until the summer heatwaves.” Waits took a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah. My Christmas tree tended to be a palm tree.”

“We cut our own.”

“Really?”

Waits nodded. “Dad took us into the woods by the park and let me and my sister fight over which tree looked the best. When we finally agreed on one, he shooed us back and cut the thing down with his chainsaw. We dragged it back to his truck, brushed the snow and ice off, then dragged it into the house. That wasn’t easy. That was also how I learned to swear.”

“No surprise there.” Lingard grinned a little. “This is going to be a stupid question, but . . . have you ever been to a Christmas party?”

“Nope. Never invited. Never wanted to go. Never felt like I’d enjoy it.”

Lingard was silent for a moment. “I met my first husband at a Christmas party. Under the mistletoe. Very cliché, but . . . that’s how it started.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I thought I’d never like mistletoe again until last year, when you kept bringing that little dollar store piece into my office.”

“Ah, so, I made you like mistletoe again.”

“In a way.”

“Does that mean if mistletoe appeared above us right now, you’d kiss me?”

Lingard blushed. “Maybe.”

Waits glanced to his left. “I said, if mistletoe appeared above us right now!”

“Sorry!” Dr. Morley jogged over, a cookie in his mouth. He held a rod with mistletoe tied to one end over the table.

Lingard smirked. “I should have known you had something in mind when you said that the first time.”

“Oh?” Waits leaned over.

“Yes.” Lingard leaned over as well, her nose touching Waits’s.

“Then I hope you’ll like everything else I have planned for you.”

Lingard looked unsure of whether or not she wanted to be concerned or excited. She kissed Waits anyway, and she detected the scent of pine mixed with coffee and cigarettes.

* * *

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Morley tried his damnedest to keep Lingard out of San Cristobal for a few hours. When she was finally allowed back in, the dismal hospital had been brightened up with lights and decorations—and mistletoe above every doorway.

Lingard looked at Morley. “I take it you had something to do with this?”

“Your boyfriend helped,” Morley replied. “Actually . . . this was his idea.”

“Waits is about as cheery as a cloudy day. There’s no way he—”

“But he did.” Grinning, Morley gently nudged Lingard toward her office. “Go on. He’s got more for you.”

Lingard entered her office to find a small tree had been set up in a corner, and her model skeleton had been covered in lights and a Santa hat. The tree rustled a little, and Waits emerged from behind.

“So, you and Morley conspired to turn my office into a miniature Christmas wonderland?” Lingard asked.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Waits said.

“Why? You don’t strike me as the . . . cheerful type.”

“Remember what you told me last year? Before we started dating?”

“I said a lot of things to you last year.”

“About how I seemed lonely.”

“Again, I said that several times.”

“Right. I . . . I don’t like being a sap, but . . . given all you’ve been through, I . . . wanted to do something nice for you. I mean, I can’t imagine either of your husbands or Ransome went to the effort of making this time of year . . . more tolerable for you.”

Lingard shrugged. “Ransome tried, but not nearly to the lengths you’re going.”

“Exactly.” Waits pulled out a large box from under the tree. “Here. I got this for you, too.”

“It’s not Christmas yet, sweetie.”

“I know. I got other stuff, but you can open this one now.”

Sighing and smiling, Lingard gently pulled the wrapping paper off, then carefully took the lid off a white cardboard box underneath. Inside was a deep-red cloak, trimmed with white fur. “Oh, Waits, you didn’t.”

“Damn right, I did. I saw that on a merchant ship this past August and something was telling me it’d look great on you. So, I bought it, wrapped it, and it’s been sitting in my apartment for the last several months.”

Lingard took the cloak from the box, and held it against her body. “Waits, I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb wearing this.”

“It’d make Sevastopol feel less depressing.”

“True.” Lingard folded the cloak. “Tell you what, we’ll go to dinner tonight, and I’ll wear it for you.”

“Thanks.” Waits headed toward the door, and cleared his throat, gesturing to the mistletoe.

Sighing, Lingard kissed him. “Alright, I have to get to work.”

“Aw, come on. Walk me outta the hospital like you always do.”

Lingard rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She took Waits’s arm, leading him out of her office. As they rounded a corner in the hallway, she sighed again when she saw red and green hanging above her. More mistletoe. “Waits—”

He grinned at her.

“I am not stopping to kiss you every single time.”

“So I’ll kiss you, then.”

“Not in front of all my patients!”

“Please?”

It was hard to say “no” to Waits, especially after he had been so nice. It was rare to see him in such a good mood. Lingard kissed him again, then saw the bundles of mistletoe hanging over every doorway from where they stood to the elevator. “Waits, really?!”


End file.
